


Aphelion

by That_Familiar_Feeling



Series: Synodic Symbiosis [1]
Category: Fake AH crew - Fandom, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Character Study, Detailed Violence, Detailed depictions of dissociation, Implied Pairings, Implied Raywood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Familiar_Feeling/pseuds/That_Familiar_Feeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a·phe·li·on<br/>əˈfēlēən/<br/>noun      ASTRONOMY<br/>the point in the orbit of a planet, asteroid, or comet at which it is furthest from the sun.<br/>"Mars is at aphelion"</p>
<p>Ryan Haywood is falling out of orbit</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I intended and set out to hurt him, and I succeed. excellent.  
> This is a character study- featuring me pushing Ryan around as I see fit with a few too many pretty words mixed in between.  
> Really there are no definite pairings- lots of development on character relationship but no parings. I implied Raywood because that's what it felt like. But this isn't just about them, it's about what they left behind.

The night is being swept away under layers of chilled rain. Pulling and pushing the world around until the streets were clear and the doors were shut.

It's late, the night wrapping and hugging against the roads sapping the life out of the asphalt. People had fled from her, into their warm homes and soft beds.

A single soul lingered, pulled along and crawling through the shadows. The night clinging to him and coaxing him along with small steps. He's hurt, injured in many places and his heart bleeds out onto his sleeves.

He's alone. The night and occasional few wayward head lights his only companions as he gropes along walls and trips on the cracks in the sidewalk.

He’s all alone, pushing himself along on a dwindling supply of adrenaline and a growing ache in his heart. He’s alone and he’s bleeding out slowly on the pavement.

His building is cold, no one standing out in the lobby or the halls. He makes his way slowly, forced to use the stairs, elevator out again…

It’s not the ritz, it’s a simple apartment building that accommodates but yes sometimes the elevator stops working. It’s not penthouse type place, but it has what he needs and that’s discretion and quiet.His apartments on the very last floor, at the very top and towards the end. At the top there are only four large apartments, and the neighbors are home as much as he is.

Somewhere, as he struggles up the stairs on foot at a time, in the back of his mind he thinks it’s normal to be so lonely… to not come home for days on end and have no one miss you…

God it hurts, everything hurts and he’s so tired now. At some point he’s collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath and breaking the quiet stairwells peace. The pain goes so deep it rattles in his bones, he can hardly force himself back on his feet. He’s leaving a trail of blood that he’ll just have to clean up later.

Pain, white hot pain that dances across his visions and wraps around his lungs.It’s coarse and terrifying, no longer muffled by adrenaline and the drive of a fight. He’s all alone and he’s bleeding out slowly from every part of his being. The pain is so deep it makes his heart want to cry. The pain in his chest hurts more than the leg that can hardly stay up, the arm that grinds against its proper joint, the hole in his side...but he crawls through the doors at the top and somewhere he is reminded how weak he is, he can hardly keep from collapsing then and there.

He pulls himself up, clings to the wall and leaves his hand prints for all the see. Making a new fight just to reach his door and get the key in the lock. Falling against the wall as it slams open after one, two, five attempts to unlock it.

The apartment welcomes him coldly, shadows reaching out to embrace him and hug against his skin. When he closes the door and locks all the bolts, it sings to him calls him in and asks him to stay.

He lets his armor fall away, his ripped jacket hits the entryways wood with a _thump_. His black mask, his shield, it slips from his fingers and leaves stains on the carpet. His protection slips from his grasp and the shadows eat it whole.

He moves without being told, letting the shadows lead him place to place. Pulling out aid kits and alcohol. He pushes through to the bathroom and flicks on the light, his shadows falling away with quiet remorse. To frightened of his face to face him.

In the mirror, he looks like a trapped soul. His face paint smeared with rain and blood until he looks like a horrendous monster. It frightens him enough that he turns away and grips to the sink like it might just save him.

Its torture, pulling his black shirt away from him. Maneuvering around a disconnected arm and a bullet wound. Always careful to avoid looking at himself in the mirror.

It’s exhausting, and the damage is so strenuous. His body is already covered in thick purple bruises, large and swollen. He blocks it all out. He is so desperate to forget the image, his arm crooked far too out of place, his nose swollen and crusted with blood, the jagged hole in his side where the bullet just missed all the important bits but was aimed enough to embed itself.

He could practically see his broken heart, splayed across his chest and oozing down his ribs.

Its painful work, dragging a cloth covered in water across the entry wound. The material catches on every part and for a minute his vision turns white. He catches his breath, tries to. Grabs the bottle and takes to many swigs. anything to numb the pain, he’s desperate. He’s bleeding across the tiles and the red stains against the blues and greens. It would look so pretty if it were anyone else...no..not just anyone else..people had to be excluded.

He curses and upends the bottle again, taking a minute to pour the liquor across the wound, his eyes are again blinding by white sparks and he cries out shakily. There are things that have to be done.

Getting the bullet out, is one of the most painful things he’s ever done.Taking a knife and digging it into his body, all the while his own pathetic noises going unheard. It’s white hot and sears through him every time he misses, and for a minute he almost feels like his heart won’t be able to take it. But then the bullet slips free and dances across the title with a soft _tinkle_.

He collapses against the sink, breath ragged and chest working so hard for every breath. Every fiber in him is screaming and the shadows outside cringe back at his show. He’s covered in blood, tears pouring openly down his face. His palms so slick he slips right of the ceramic and crashes to the ground, curling in on himself.

He tries to push himself up, to grab at the kit with the sewing needle but he’s landed on the wrong arm and the pain makes him sob viciously. He reaches and cries as the kit goes crashing to the floor. At this point, just being able to press his ruined shirts remains against his side is a victory. Hes trapped with his off hand and everything hurts and he thinks this time  his leg just won’t be able to pick him up.

He’s shaking, trembling against the cold floor as blood pools around him into puddled wings. Like a fallen angel he’s crying out weaker and weaker.

In place of the pain, a cold sense of peace starts to seep into him. working its way from his bones and writhing through his muscles until they're forced to still. It’s the shadows again, crawling towards him and begging him to sleep. Sleep until all the pain goes away.

In the back of his mind, he knows better. Knows he should call for help...anyone...no one…

Knows that his head is damaged and he needs to stay awake…

But he’s so..so tired...and he just wants to sleep.

He’s already drifting in and out. The shadows rocking him and cradling him gently. They make the world go numb and they make it impossible for him to know about the car that screeches to a halt at his curb...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning, because I feel like this could maybe be uncomfortable. But this chapter is very heavily based on disassociation, in a way..and I just wanted to make that known. I tried to go for a very indirect form of telling the story. It's supposed to be somewhat confusing at the beginning.
> 
> So just, forewarning I'm trying to be very descriptive, and also trying to be subtle and such. hehe, this is really fun to write though.

There was a sound... something snapped and splintered, and he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He was being thrown back and forth, until he felt the muffled force of a parapet meeting the low of his back, the sharp twang of mental and the low creak that came before it crumpled.

He was being thrown back a scream was being ripped from him and he couldn’t move. Something was doing all the moving for him, pull him and twisting him, he was falling…

He could have sworn he heard voices, but his ear piece was screaming at him like a cicada.

He could see the broken rail, his vision fuzzy around the edges and slowly it was shrinking. But he was falling for what felt like a very...very long time. Like he wouldn’t stop… but he could have sworn he had just fallen from..where...had he..

Shaking, he was shaking. Or being shaken. An explosion that sounded too far muffled to be real, a voice that was to close to be fake. He was twisting and turning and all the while he knew he was still screaming…

The pain was excruciating, being thrown from a roof with a bullet in your side does that. But there was a reason he was falling, and he tried reaching for it, tried to swing his arms out into the darkness to find it. why was he falling...why why why…

Why was there something holding him, yanking his arms down and pulling him. The darkness was moving and pulsing, fading in and out and the images could hardly be described. like he was waking up but couldn’t move, couldn’t see clear and couldn’t hear. He was being paralyzed and he couldn’t fight back, he couldn’t protect...who couldn’t he protect...why couldn’t he just...just remember…

The darkness was moving, and every few minutes it was bright, to bright and to painful and he could swear that he was begging for the shadows to just, ease the ache. They tried to. They tried to grab at his ankles and hush him, but he was still moaning low and painful. The shadows didn’t want him to suffer, they wanted him to sleep. He just wanted to sleep. They murmured and soothed and tried to wrap around his throat.

Something kept swatting them away, kept shaking him and making the bright light come back. His very cold darkness became warmer, like he was being wrapped up and constrained. Pain pain pain and heat and he was still whining and writhing. Every time the shadows would come, something would fight them. Something was trying, trying to find him and he couldn’t run.

He was tired, but angry. He was becoming angrier and angrier the more tired he got. He started to kick out, pushing it all away from him he just wanted to breathe…breathe he needed to breath.

He took in deep breaths, tried to anyways, and found that the air was soaked in a tangy...earthy scent. But something was off, something sharp and cloying that tugged at images and fuzzy memories.

He kept breathing, whining in between and clawing at the shadows. They kept trying to wrap around him, to comfort surely...but he couldn’t..he couldn’t smell. They were taking away the smell and he was having none of it. It was getting fainter and he ad to find it, he had to remember. What did he forget…

The shadows were reeling from him, and he climbed over them, his limbs limp and numb but he kept trying to push forward. It felt like something, the scent, was trying to coax him...but also detain him.It was frantic like a heartbeat...like static on a wire. He wanted to see it, to hear it, taste it but first...he had to smell it.

So he stopped. He stopped moving and the darkness stilled. The force was smooth against his numbness, stilling with him and waiting. He reached out slow, frightened, what would be there when his fingertips brushed against the darkness.

The force swelled, his darkness became foggy, and the scent trailed. From his nails up the skin grew warm and the static grew thicker, substantial. He could feel the air, feel the warmth on his back and the cold that licked at his face. He could feel, he could smell. Smell became taste, and it was sour, metallic and rotten but with each breath it was also fresh and familiar...

He could hear, something. Soothing. A murmur. It was trying to call him, he could tell. It made noises like it knew he would be able to hear and understand. Somewhere, he did understand. But that was far away and he was to tired to go searching. he wanted this force, to feel it and to see it…

See. He forgot how to see.

He forgot something else to, something more important. When he tried to recall what, the darkness would flicker and crowd him, closing in on something far too painful.

So he let it be, feeling the darkness carry it away for now.

Instead he focused, concentrated on seeing. What was holding him, hugging him and murmuring. Trying to coax him forward, and he welcomed it now. Whining lowly he tried to force his eyes. Tried to make out shapes in the shadows that loomed over him. When he tried so very hard, a flash of bright, a sharp whine that was getting more solid and clear, and the flash was gone. No...no wait…

It's not gone...it’s just gotten quiet. The bright white turning into soft grey. Grey becoming a blue. He was trying to push himself forward, but knew he wasn’t actually moving. Piece by piece he moved the darkness away, until he was blinking back dim light and whining painfully.

“ink es ing nd…” the force previous, muttered much clearer now. Murmurs forming substantial clicks and smooth vowels. He was being moved again but now he could feel every little pressure. He gave a half hearted sound when pressure became pain and the movement ceased.

“is e ake..” another voice, another warmth but now on his face. He was still blinking and the edges were still fuzzy. But his dim blue light was suddenly pale skin and big brown eyes. Hands were moving his face, pushing against his cheeks and swiping below his eyes. The touch, the actual feeling of just solid touch, was enough to start bringing the edges back together.

Someone was holding him to their chest, their arms wrapped safely around him, keeping him upright as someone else was touching his face and side. He recognized those voices, but his tongue felt thick and swollen. Like he’d tried to bite at it, and on some level succeeded.

“mmch” he knotted his eyebrows together at the attempt to form a word, disappointed it hadn’t come out right. But apparently it was enough because now the hands were brushing his hair and soothing at his cheek.

“Easy big guy its ok...its me Ryan it’s me..” now he was being pressed again, the pain on his side flared and he made a low groan. “sh sh..it’s ok. I’m trying to help…” he shook his head weakly though and tried to move away. “Jesus...Gavin keep him still…”

Gavin...Gavin was holding him to his chest, with his face partially smushed against Ryan’s back as he held the larger man down securely enough for...for pain.

Ryan writhed and Gavin gripped tighter,”Easy..easy Rye he’s just sewing it up..please Ryan don’t..” he was quiet, and it struck Ryan so deeply that he froze up. Gavin sounded upset, and he couldn’t for the life of him tell why. Gavin was quiet and sounded scared, why was he scared...why... was Michael being so gentle.

Michael hushed him when he tired to ask, rubbed a slick hand, covered in some dark red substance Ryan couldn’t name but knew well, against the elders arm to soothe him. “I’m almost done Rye...then we can get you cleaned up ok? Just hold on…”

Ryan frowned but slumped, obeying. The pain wasn’t to bad, not as bad as the confusion that was making its way from his head to his core, making him sick. it twisted his stomach when he opened his eyes and saw the frightened amount of concentration of Michael's face. How shaky he was when he pulled away his hands soaked red and delicately holding a piece of string attached to a needle.

“There we go..see..all better okay..okay..” Michael set the needle down and Ryan could faintly assume he was cutting the string, tying it off, before taking a piece of soaked cloth and softly going around the wound. It stung bitterly and Ryan whined again, but Gavin soothed him this time, running a hand through his hair and hushing him.cooing softly at him in a way that felt safe, like he was really okay.

Michael finished, cleaning the wound and pressing a bandage securely against his side. He was soaked, his shirt and hands covered in dark red that slowly started to turn brown. He reached out slow, cautious, and used a clean piece of the cloth to wipe at Ryan’s face.

Something made Gavin cringe, make some pained sound that Ryan didn’t like. But   
Ryan couldn’t be angry at Michael, because the lad was shrinking back himself.

“It’s cool...I’m going to wash my hands..then we’ll clean you up and help you out of here ok? We’re gonna...shit..no no..”Ryan was leaning dangerously to the side, trying his hardest to retain the words, and Michael pressed into his space to righten him again. “You gotta sit up rye..you gotta stay away please...please..Ryan..”

He was awake. But he was out. Drifting between the two lads absently while they tended to him and washed his face, sharing concerned glances as he murmured half vowels. They took turns holding him, keeping him steady as they moved around. At some point, he thought he had seen Gavin flicker around, but no...no he was just imagining it.

Of course he wouldn’t be flickering, and Ryan couldn’t have known that he was the one who was flickering. His thoughts getting mixed up so much he was being moved and watching people move without even realizing it.

Michael and Gavin struggled at first, trying to get Ryan up and get around him enough to support his dead weight. Eventually Ryan got the idea and at least tried to hold his own weight up, which must have helped because now they were moving.

The shadows tried to follow them out the door, but the lads were to fast for them, to quick and to solid for the shadows to get through. They were determined to move Ryan down the stairs, but he couldn’t guess why. Michael kept saying that he was okay, and Gavin wasn’t saying anything at all. What had he forgotten…

****  
  


Outside, the arm was cold enough that it felt like a slap to his face, and he cringed harshly. Gavin grunted and held him up, Michael moved in and out of Ryan’s vision but he knew he was there.

Knew he was safe, but couldn’t remember why.

Things came and went for him then. Sounds and sights blurred into passing lights, splashes here and there.

But he could understand that he was laying down, tucked against a small space, with his face pressed snuggly against a warm -if not thin, stomach. Fingers kept threading through his hair and working against his scalp, murmuring and soothing.

He wanted to see, but his vision was so terribly blurry now it made him ill. He could only faintly glimpse Gavin’s familiar gold hair, the lights of signs flitting across his face and painting the dark frown in stark contrast.

Ryan couldn’t tell why...but he felt like...this was his fault…

He just couldn’t remember...

 


	3. Chapter 3

When Ryan faded back into the darkness he half expected it to be filled with more static.

 

But when he fell into consciousness, he was only partly surprised to be greeted with an all too familiar scene. One that cycled through his dreams and left him to awaken hollow and longing for a warm touch. 

He was reclining in the backseat of an antic of a car. Half slouched against the backrest with his head angled up to stare out the rear window. He had one bandaged leg propped up on a pair of weathered duffel bags, the other was hanging awkwardly into the foot well leaving him in a rather uncomfortable position.

The amount of detail was startling, after the struggle he’d recently been through- enough of a start that he almost questions whether he’s asleep at all.  
But no, he knows he’s not. He knows because with a shudder the sense of contentment returns to him as it does every time he dreams this.

That...and one small detail…

Diagonal to him, sitting hunched in the driver’s seat wearing that habitual purple hoody- a ghost continues to play a battered DS unaware of his passengers awoken state. 

He hasn’t changed a bit.  
The same mess of dark hair, the same naturally tan skin, and the same pair of rich coffee colored eyes. 

Ray… in all his living, earthly glory.  
Still the same Ray that would zone the world out once he concentrated on a focal point.  
Who chewed at the corner of his mouth in determination- while lining up a shot or planning a move it was always a tick he never kicked.  
This man he remembers so warmly, filling his chest with a homesickness so profound it’s left him shaking. This man, this is the one who he cared for so deeply- not the broken, limp thing on the asphalt...

All at once, the memories finally fall back into place. They delicately extract themselves from the shadows grip and return to him.

The gunfights, the falls, the inevitable wave of nausea that swells around him every time he remembers the way he cradled this man to his chest…

How he was terrified that once again he’d cradle a lifeless thing…

The numbness that overtook him, drove him into the storm for from the replay- from the inevitable as yet another man was thrown off yet another roof. 

So he savors these feelings.  
Before the return, before the consequence…  
He savors every painful feeling that comes.

The way the leather sticks to his skin, the old comforting smell of a place he’d been in time and time again. The way the rain sluices across the window and pelts across the battered roof.   
He takes it in, and tucks it deeper into that place he made inside himself to remember.

But most of all he begs himself to remember this Ray. Alive and steady in vision.   
This ghost that haunts him made flesh and bone for only a moment.

As always it never lasts.  
The edges start to blur together like a bad watercolor, swirling away the things he’s held so precious.

There’s a small shift, a new detail that slips its way from his scattered pieces and solidifies itself here.

Ray turns, fixes these soothing eyes on Ryan and smiles. All at once the rain gives and a steady stream of golden light floods in behind his ghost.  
It fizzles the image even more, and Ryan reaches out desperately in attempt to hold onto that glorious smile. 

“‘Bout time you woke up “  
It’s an order, a statement, and a pardon all at once.

It sends Ryan reeling into a complicated series of memories and dreams that meld together behind that last, heavenly smile…

“See you late Rye…” the final whisper drifts up to him and wraps his mind in a peace that he’d been lacking for a long time.

“Ray…” he whispers back as he slips away once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken so long for me to pick this back up but I got stuck for a loooooong time and now I've finally found the right path for this one. 
> 
> It's not long, but I'm just so happy that I've finally written again after months.

**Author's Note:**

> Ryan really shouldn't underestimate people...
> 
> If it needs other tags someone should tell me.
> 
> AN- I added tags that felt more appropriate.


End file.
